Chance Meetings
by Lillielle
Summary: Disclaimer: I own nothing. An expansion/take-off from my story "But What If..." What if Harry became friends with Draco from that chance meeting in Diagon Alley? What if the Malfoys met him? What if they noticed something was wrong?


_Notes: This is an expansion on my story "But What If..." What if Harry became friends with Draco? What if the Malfoys noticed something was wrong? What if...?_

_Warning: Character-bashing, particularly of Ron. Also, I can't really do Hagrid's accent, so I'm not even going to try. XD_

It was chance, more than anything else, that set Harry's feet wandering past Madam Malkin's shop at first go. He'd never been anywhere so fascinating as Diagon Alley and no matter what the massively tall Hagrid said, he was more than half convinced it was all a wondrous dream.

He slowed as he realised he was almost at the book shop. That couldn't be right. A very large redheaded family was currently quarreling at the front of the shop, and Harry gawked at them. He'd never seen so many related people in one place. As he watched, one of the youngest, a gangly boy with slightly curly red hair and a smudge of dirt on his chin looked truculently at him.

"What are you looking at?" the boy spat. "Shove off!"

"I wasn't-sorry," Harry stammered, looking at the ground. Something glinted there, and he quickly stooped, brushing away the dirt and discovering a galleon.

"Hey, that's mine!" the redheaded boy was suddenly there, grabbing the gold piece out of his hand and smirking in a rather unpleasant way that reminded Harry strongly of Dudley.

"No, it's not!" Harry protested now, his temper flaring. "It was practically buried, if you'd just dropped it, it wouldn't have been."

"Are you calling me a liar?" the other boy hissed, his face now as red as his hair.

"Ron? Ron, are you fighting again?" a plump redheaded woman hurried over, grabbing Ron by the elbow and steering him away. Ron threw him a smug look as he pocketed the galleon.

Feeling sulky, Harry stuck his tongue out at the boy, then sighed and turned to retrace his steps. This time, he found Madam Malkin's right away and stepped gratefully into its cool dimness.

"First time for Hogwarts, lad?" a woman spoke at his elbow, making him jump.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she exclaimed, looking genuinely distressed. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"It's all right," he managed a bit of a smile. "Yes. I'm starting Hog-Hogwarts September first."

"Up you go," the sunny-haired woman directed, pointing him at a stool next to a very pale, pointy-faced boy with floppy blonde hair.

Harry managed an awkward smile at the boy as he stood there, shifting from foot to foot. He could hear the woman in the background, thumping through a large quantity of boxes and swearing colourfully under her breath.

"Who are you then?" the boy suddenly demanded. "I'm Malfoy. Draco Malfoy."

"That's...an interesting name," Harry blinked. "I'm Harry Potter."

"Are you really?" the boy gaped. "Sorry. It's just. Have you got it?"

"Got what?" Harry regarded him blankly.

"Y'know." The blonde flushed a startling pink colour. "The scar?"

"Oh," Harry shoved his sweaty fringe up, revealing the livid lightning-bolt.

"That looks painful," Draco said, wincing in sympathy.

"Not usually," Harry shrugged, letting his hair come down and cover the jagged mark once more. "Sometimes when I've got really bad nightmares, but that's it."

"Oh," Draco nodded. "D'you get people asking a lot?"

"About my scar?" Harry clarified. Malfoy nodded. "No. Not until today, actually. My family only uses it to remind-" Harry stopped abruptly, hearing his heart thump loudly in his ears. Damn it, he'd nearly blurted out one of the cardinal sins in the Dursley household. Never talk about your freakishness. He figured that applied even in a world of freaks-of _magic_. After all, Hagrid may have said his parents were killed by a Dark wizard, but it was rather hard to go to that after hearing for ten years how your dad was a worthless drunk and that he and your mum had died in a car crash.

"Remind you of what?" Draco probed, and Harry shrugged, his shoulders jerking like a puppet's.

"Nothing," he said. "It's nothing. I just meant that I've never been treated like someone spec-like a celebrity before. It's really weird."

"I can imagine," Draco said, giving him a strange look. Just then, Madam Malkin bustled back up, and within moments, both boys were finished being measured. She gave Harry quite an armful of packages and seeing his panicked look, shrunk them all for him.

"When you get your wand, dear," she said, giving him a comforting pat on the arm. "Just tap each one three times. That will un-shrink them for you."

"Thank you, ma'am," Harry gushed, but the woman just smiled and patted him again.

"Come on," Draco said impatiently, pushing his way into the bright sunlight first. "I want to introduce you to-oh. Who are you then?" he asked Hagrid, who was beaming at Harry and dripping two rather large ice creams on himself and the ground.

"That's Hagrid," Harry piped up, slightly pleased to know something Draco didn't. "He's the grounds-keeper at Hogwarts."

"Oh," Draco regarded the man with a look of disdain so icy Harry elbowed him before he even realised he'd moved. "Ow!" Draco turned to the boy, anger flushing his cheeks. "What was that for?"

Before Harry could reply, and likely say something he shouldn't, Hagrid had thrust one of the ice creams into his hand with a gruff "Happy birthday, Harry!" and two people had come up, both very pale and icy and blonde, and all too clearly Draco's parents.

"Hello, Mother, Father," Draco said in a completely different tone, bowing a bit at the waist. Harry regarded him in blank-eyed surprise, heedless of the ice cream dripping down his wrist.

"Hello, Draco," Mrs. Malfoy said, her voice cool, but her eyes warm with affection as she bestowed a feathery-light kiss on the boy's cheek. "Who is your friend?"

"_Harry Potter_," Draco replied, barely restraining himself from bouncing on his toes.

"Really?" Draco's father inquired, raising one light eyebrow. Harry felt himself the object of slate-eyed scrutiny and bent himself to the nearly forgotten ice cream, licking it hastily to keep it from melting any further.

"Of course he is!" Hagrid interjected cheerily, seemingly unaware of the tension that stretched piano-wire-tight. "Picked him up this morning. Rotten lot of Muggles he lives with," Hagrid trailed off, mumbling to himself. Mr. Malfoy's eyes sharpened.

"Lucius Malfoy, at your service," the Malfoy patriarch finally said smoothly, a slight bow accompanying his words. "And this is my wife, Narcissa."

"Tis a pleasure to meet you at last, Mr. Potter," Narcissa said, demure.

"And you," Harry managed awkwardly. His face felt like it was on fire.

"But why are you not with your relatives?" Narcissa asked. Harry looked down, digging the toe of his trainer insistently into the ground.

"Um..." he trailed off, not sure of what to say.

"It's all right, Mr. Potter, you don't have to tell me," Narcissa continued when the silence had stretched on interminably. "Perhaps you and ah, Hagrid, would like to join us for lunch?"

"That's all right, Missus Malfoy," Hagrid said, flushing. "I reckon you can just take Harry if he's a mind."

"I insist!" Narcissa said, smiling warmly. "Both of you. Please?"

"All right," Harry said, swallowing. His throat was dust-dry. "That would, um, be lovely."

"Then it's settled," Lucius Malfoy said. His smile looked genuine, but the glint in his eyes suggested otherwise. "Shall we?"

And Harry found himself (after hastily finishing his ice cream) neatly dragged down the road to a little eatery just off the main alley, called Blottwhistle's.

It looked _very_ fancy.

At least there weren't any redheads around, he thought as Lucius Malfoy opened the door for him and he stepped inside. He didn't know what he'd do if he ran across that "Ron" again. Probably try to kick him in the shins, and wouldn't that be a great impression on Draco's parents?

Then he looked around and forgot all about the bullying git, because Blottwhistle's looked _amazing_.

It wasn't precisely blatantly opulent, that was the thing. If he'd taken a casual look inside while passing, he would have thought it like any other restaurant. Perhaps even a bit shabby, through the misted glass. But inside-it was beautiful. Each table was sequestered in its own little nook, artfully set aside by tricks of architecture and the occasional fountain or plant. The tablecloths stretched to the floor, a dark, forest green embroidered with silver thread. It whispered class in a way that most fancy restaurants he'd been to (in reluctant, begrudging care of the Dursleys) screamed.

He was suddenly very conscious of how grubby his trainers were, and how patched the rest of his clothes were. Hagrid had waved his umbrella at him this morning and somehow made his clothes actually _fit_, but they were still rather, well, old. And clearly cast-offs.

Lucius and Narcissa didn't seem to mind, however, and so he followed them to a table in the very back. It was the largest in the whole facility, and clearly the one that was needed to accommodate Hagrid.

Draco plopped down next to him, alternately shy and boisterous. From the way he acted, Harry would have thought he'd never had a friend before. Then again, perhaps he hadn't? The Malfoys seemed quite well-off and although Harry hadn't spent much time around anyone he would call properly wealthy, he knew that you could end up with false friends no matter what.

"Are you all right, Harry?" Narcissa bestowed another smile on him as she handed him a green-encased menu. He nodded shyly.

"If you don't know what to get, Mum and Father always have really good suggestions," Draco stage-whispered in his ear. Harry sighed in relief. After one glance at the menu, he realised it might as well have been written in Greek. Not to mention, his paralysing fright of ordering anything that wasn't the absolute cheapest thing on there. Then again, how could he know? The prices were written in wizarding money, and he couldn't remember what the exchange rate was.

"Is there anything in particular you like, dear?" Narcissa encouraged. Harry looked down at the tablecloth again, his fingers unconsciously worrying at the smooth fabric. He shook his head.

"We'll just order you what Draco likes then," Narcissa said, exchanging a look with Lucius over Harry's bent head. Something was very off about the Boy Who Lived, and the Malfoys were determined to find out what.


End file.
